Still Is the Rainstorm
Into the evanescing night
Floats hope, now restrained to a dream
Within the edges which incite
Tales clinging unto the extreme :
Russet of summer, ebb of tide
Blows whispers as rainstorm nears
Its last heaving when moons provide,
A bright glint reflecting my tears.
Although long my amble on hills
Time does bestow my earnest bid,
To forgive, a strife from love's chills
Allowing mist to end tight grid--
Old stories drown under seafloor
Through August , warm the hues blending...
For magical is the beam ashore
My heart at peace ...never-ending.
Brian Strand Late Jan 2019 Contest
Not entered in any challenge
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2019
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